PR 4879 

.L3P6 

1891 



e> 



■«.. 



POEMS 

BY 

W.E.H.LECKY 











LIBRARY OF CONGRESS, 



XL 



UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



|3ocms 



BY 



• 



WILLIAM EDWARD HARTPOLE LECKY 




NEW YORK 
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 






Copyright, 1891, 
By D. APPLETON AND COMPANY. 



All rights reserved. 



Printed in America. 



TO MY WIFE 

THESE POEMS 

WRITTEN IN MANY YEARS AND IN MANY MOODS 

ARE DEDICATED 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

An Autumn Ode 9 

The Dreamer 13 

Seaside 15 

"Farewell, Maiden, though thine 

Eye" 16 

Memory 18 

"If Desolation rend thy Heart" . 19 

Broken Hearts 20 

Early Thoughts 22 

The Skaters 23 

Before the Battle . . . .26 

Forebodings 31 

Nemesis 33 

Evening 35 

A Missed Destiny 36 

On an Old Song 37 

Vanitas Vanitatum . . . .41 



VI 



(Contents. 





PAGE 


Voices of the Evening 


. 42 


Song .... 


• 44 


The Sower and his Seed . . . 46 


Town and Country 


. 47 


"I DREAMED A DREAM OF GLORY " . 49 


A Woman's Portrait 


. 51 


Birthdays 


• 53 


The Dying Seer 


. 54 


Life's Tragedy 


. . . 56 


Moods 


. 59 


Association 


. 61 


"Sail on, Sail on, thou Fragile 


Bark 


. 62 


Homeward bound . 


. . . 63 


"Flow on, Swift Stream" . .70 


A Tale of Modern Italy ... 71 


Spanish Song . 


. • . 83 


Illicit Love . 


. . . 85 


Two Friends . 


. • . 87 


The Widow . 


. 90 


Seville 


. 91 


Married Life . 


. 93 


Passion and Memory 


• 95 


To . 


■ • • • 97 


Past and Present . 


. . . 98 


A Broken Life 


. 100 



QLonttnts. 


vii 




PAGE 


Love and Sorrow 


102 


"I CAN NOT BOW BEFORE THE SHRINE ' 


103 


Deflecting Influences . 


I04 


The Last Parting. 


106 


Character 


108 


The Portrait , 


112 


Undeveloped Lives 


114 


Old Age 


. Il6 


" He found his Work, but could not 


find" 


. Il8 


Fame, Love, and Youth 


. 119 


The Decline of Love . 


. 120 


Unconscious Cerebration 


. 122 


The National Portrait Gallery 


• 123 



AN AUTUMN ODE. 

Now Autumn paints the fading trees, 

The mists obscure the plain, 
The moanings of the fitful breeze, 

The heavy falling rain, 
Bewail the pride of Summer gone 
And icy Winter pressing on 

With unresisted tread. 
At such a time we love to fly 
On wings of thought through scenes gone by 

To summon up the dead. 

And first I saw a happy boy, 

A mother's only child, 
The foremost with ecstatic joy 

To climb the mountain wild, 
To chase the fox, to course the hare, 
To cast the mimic fly, or share 

The passion of the game. 
Fast sped the hours of work and play, 
And every new succeeding day 

Seemed sparkling as it came. 



io &n Autumn (Dbe. 

Life opened out its scenes to him 

One vision of delight, 
No morbid care his eye to dim 

No forecast to affright. 
His heart was like the bursting flower 
All filled with dew in mornmg's hour 

And glittering in the sun — 
(A gladness too intense to last) 
The joys of childhood had not past 

Nor manhood's toils begun. 



He vanished soon, and in his place 

I saw a young man stand, 
The shade of thought upon his face, 

A volume in his hand. 
He follows with a kindling gaze 
The glorious deeds in other days, 

In distant countries wrought. 
Eager he rifles learning's stores, 
But yet more eagerly explores 

The Infinite of thought. 



Ambition swept her sounding lyre, 

Her music thrilled his breast, 
She touched his veins with heaven - born 
fire, 

He could not pause or rest. 



&tt Autumn (£)be. n 

She whispered, with a voice sublime, 
" On, on, thy fearless steps may climb 

The pinnacles on high, 
To blazon there thy deeds, thy name, 
To link thy life with living fame, 

Be this thy destiny." 

Love touched her tender lute, her strain 

Fell softly on his ear, 
He felt a new, absorbing pain, 

How poignant, yet how dear ! 
The restlessness of thought has gone, 
Fame, wealth and power no longer shone 

Before his dazzled eye. 
Drawn from all grosser things afar, 
He hung on beauty like a star 

That hangs upon the sky. 

A shadow on that love was cast, 

Life took a lower tone, 
Ideals now are fading fast 

And selfishness has grown. 
Ambition blighted or decayed, 
High hopes by vulgar cares o'erlaid, 

Ignoble sin and strife, 
And then the last, the saddest stage, 
The slow corroding touch of age, 

The lethargy of life. 



&n Autumn ©be. 



Ah, spendthrift Life ! how fast she drains 

The cup of joy to mortals given, 
Till nothing but the dregs remains 

To cool her parching lips at even ! 
The power to breast the adverse stream, 
The power to hope, to love, to dream, 

The strength of thought and will, 
All that is best must die before 
Our steps have touched the silent shore 

Where the last wave is still. 



13 



THE DREAMER. 

A YOUNG man wandered alone by the shore, 

And he said, as he gazed on the sea : 
" Be the life of the fetterless dreamer mine, 

No home and no friend for me : 
From sea to sea, and from land to land, 

Be it mine forever to roam, 
Bright thoughts they are better than earthly 
friends, 

And the mind creates its home." 

The ripples of evening quivered below, 

And the sky was cloudless above ; 
And the breeze came as soft on the listening 
ear 
As the whisper of one we love ; 
And the sea-bird hung poised upon motion- 
less wing, 
Ere it glided in light along ; 
And the thoughts that passed through that 
young man's brain 
Were turned into waves of song. 



14 ®it)z SBtxamer. 

But a cloud passed over the minstrel's soul 

As he gazed on the watery gleam ; 
The hopes and the cares and the joys of men 

Became like a fading dream. 
His heart soon lost the power to love, 

And his eye the power to weep ; 
And the bloom of his fancy withered away, 

And his mind was locked in sleep. 

Winter may darken the glittering sea, 

And summer return again ; 
But no pulse can throb in that young man's 
heart, 

No pulse of joy or of pain. 
And the ripple breaks with a sadder sound, 

Where he lies on the lonely shore, 
With folded arms and a dreamless brain, 

For ever and evermore. 



i5 



SEASIDE. 

How pleasing to the beauty-loving eye 
That long, low line where land and ocean 

meet : 
The one as still and silent as the tomb, 
The other with a gentle rise and fall, 
And with a heavy, breathing sound — it seems 
Like Sleep embracing her sad sister Death, 
Or like a terrified and panting mother 
Stroking the temples of her swooning child, 
And sighing as she sees her toil in vain. 
In such a scene fond memories weave their 

spell, 
And hopes grow high, and Fancy seeks and 

finds 
The far horizon of her noblest dreams, 
Till like the sea our thoughts stretch on to 

heaven. 



i6 



"FAREWELL, MAIDEN, THOUGH 
THINE EYE." 

Farewell, maiden, though thine eye 
With youth's brightest sunshine glows, 

Though thy mantling blushes vie 
With the splendor of the rose, 

Beauty's flush must pass away, 

Fleeting like a summer day. 

Can the angel-face alone 

Make the happiness of life ? 
Are no hues of deeper tone 

Needed for the perfect wife ? 
Stronger, softer, and more pure, 
Only moral tints endure. 

Time will lend another hue 

To what now attracts so much, 

Come to me, and come to you 

With a sadd'ning, with'ring touch ; 

And a love-song soon will wear 

Something of archaic air. 



f 



" laxmciU Jitaiben." 1 7 



Sadly, sadly must we part ; 

Long for thee my thoughts will pine 
Why was such a shallow heart 

Linked with such a face as thine ? 
Yet, were life a dream to me, 
How gladly would I dream with thee ! 

Life is threescore years and ten, 
Passion scarce as many days, 

Broken hearts may rise again, 
Other lights may pierce the haze, 

Not so bright but steadier far, 

Not the meteor but the star. 



MEMORY. 

'Tis a memory twined with the years gone by, 

A young and beautiful child, 
With a heart that no pang of remorse had 
wrung, 

And a brow that no care defiled. 

And the past unfolds to my view whene'er 

Her image before me flies — 
The scenes of our childhood appear again, 

And the friends that we loved arise. 

Fond hopes that had withered expand once 
more, 

And visions of truths sublime, 
As she floats in the light of her loveliness 

O'er the dark'ning waves of time. 



19 



LINES. 

If desolation rend thy heart, 
Or sin pollute thy spotless name, 

Forbid not that the tear should start, 
Nor check the rising blush of shame. 

The thunder-cloud that o'er thee lowers 
In gentle rain will pass away ; 

The winter ends with April showers, 
The night by blushing turns to day. 



BROKEN HEARTS. 

I SEE thy cheek grow deadly pale 
(Let no one tell the mournful tale) : 
Was the fault in you or me 
That led us both to misery, 
Bitter words in anger spoken, 
Loving hearts too lightly broken, 
Foolish pride and hasty blame, 
Deep but unacknowledged shame, 
Love in one to hatred turned, 
Remorse in both too fully earned ? 
Let no man judge between us two, 
God only seeth through and through. 

Soon, too soon, I plainly see, 

The world will be no more to thee ; 

The many thoughts and ways of men 

Will never stir thy mind again ; 

Thy dreams and hopes will soon be o'er, 

And love and hate and grief no more, 

And those dear lips for me so chill 

Must know a touch more loathsome still — 



Broken hearts. 21 

The hungry earthworms wait for thee, 
Despair and agony for me. 
Let no man judge between us two, 
God only seeth through and through. 



22 



EARLY THOUGHTS. 

Oh, gather the thoughts of your early years, 

Gather them as they flow, 
For all unmarked in those thoughts appears 

The path where you soon must go. 

Full many a dream will wither away, 

And springtide hues are brief, 
But the lines are there of the autumn day, 

Like the skeleton in the leaf. 

The husbandman knows not the worth of 
his seed 

Until the flower be sprung, 
And only in age can we rightly read 

The thoughts that we thought when young. 



23 



THE SKATERS. 

Now the ice is smooth and strong, 
Hasten, hasten, ladies gay, 

Join the undulating throng — 
'Tis the skater's holiday ! 

Youth, with Pleasure in her train, 

Lightly skims the glittering plain. 

Lovely cheeks will soon be brighter 
With the ever-deepening rose ; 

Happy hearts will beat yet lighter 
As the blood more quickly flows. 

Seize, oh, seize the flying hours ! 

Present joys alone are ours. 

Eagle speed and swan-like grace, 
Swiftly glides each happy pair, 

Half a dance and half a chase, 
And the joy of both is there. 

Still the skaters gather fast, 

Though the day be well-nigh past. 



24 &l)e Skaters. 



See them meeting, interlacing, 
Spreading far along the ice, 

Now in mazy circles tracing 
Lines of intricate device ; 

Curving, wheeling, to and fro, 

Weaving beauty as they go. 



Now again they crowd together 

As the eager race is run, 
Yet by ribbon, scarf, or feather, 

You can track, them one by one. 
Beauty, skill, or inborn grace, 
Which will win the foremost place ? 



Friends and lovers gayly mingle 
Yonder in the tangled throng ; 

Here, some little skater single 
All demurely glides along, 

Full as fair and skilled as they, 

On her solitary way. 

Slowly sinks the setting sun, 
Red and misty in the west ; 

Only when the day is done 

Comes the scene we love the best, 

When a hundred torches blaze, 

Dance and tremble through the haze. 



&l)£ Skaters. 25 

Like the flakes of drifting snow, 

In a dim and fitful light, 
Like the forms that eome and go 

In the visions of the night : 
Shadowy figures gleam and quiver 
All along the frozen river. 

Gayly rings the sounding steel 
Through the keen and frosty air ; 

Oh, the rapture skaters feel ! 
Yet, move lightly, and beware, 

For the stream flows on beneath, 

Sullen, cold, and dark as death. 



26 



BEFORE THE BATTLE. 

'TlS night — the warrior chiefs have met, 
The tent is filled, the banquet set, 
The wine-cups gayly circle round, 
The bard with wreath of laurel crowned 
Bends o'er the vocal strings ; 

And as the martial notes resound, 
Each chief in chorus sings, 

And eyes grow bright, and spirits 
bound, 
And every eager warrior flings 

His soul into the theme. 
Now high the minstrel's notes are borne 
In martial ire, in lofty scorn ; 
He tells of men of old who spurned 
The wealth by base subjection earned, 
Who drew the sword in Freedom's 

cause, 
And fell amid a world's applause, 
The foremost in the battle's van, 
Where clashing hosts meet man to man, 

And war's red lightnings gleam. 



Bdoxc t\)c Rattle. 27 

Now changed and mournful is his strain — 

Sad as the music of the surge, 
When sweeping o'er the answering main, 
The storm's first fitful blasts complain, 

He chants the warrior's dirge. 
He paints the scene when sad and 

slow, 
With muffled drums and standards low, 
Some youthful leader of the brave 
Is borne unto his early grave, 
Wrapped in a banner for a shroud, 
Attended by the martial crowd, 
While Beauty's eye is dim with tears, 

And Valor's cheek with sorrow pale ; 
For, old in deeds though young in 

years, 
No other chief like him appears 
To dissipate his nation's fears, 

And make her tyrants quail. 
Gone in the flush of youthful pride, 
Gone from the mountain's tented side, 
Gone from the field where oft his sword 
The fortune of the day restored. 
But no ; his presence still is there, 
Inspiring hope, dispelling fear ; 
His memory nerves the boldest heart, 
His glory wings the fleetest dart ; 
The halo of eternal fame 
Is brightening round his honored name. 



28 Before tlje Battle. 

The minstrel sung, and clear and high 
Shines many a spirit-flashing eye, 
And many a chieftain glances proudly 

At his gleaming falchion's blade, 
As the funereal music loudly 

Tells of those who low are laid ; 
And many a warrior now may borrow, 

From the records of the past, 
That courage needed on the morrow, 

His day of glory — and his last. 



'Tis night — the moon is riding high 

Along the clear, untroubled sky, 

And tingeing with a pallid beam 

The yellow copse, the glitt'ring stream ; 

O'erflooded by the luster shed 

Around her path, the stars have fled, 

And not a cloud obscures the night, 

And not a vapor dims the sight, 

And not a sound invades the ear 

But the tramp of the sentinel pacing 

near; 
But the thrilling song of the lone night 

bird, 
Like a spirit's voice through the silence 

heard, 
But the fitful breeze that is murmuring 
As light as the wave of an angel's wing ; 



IMore tl)e Battle. 29 

And the firefly floats through the summer 

air, 
And the bat is wheeling listlessly there, 
And a moonbeam plays on the tents of 

the foe, 
Till they gleam in its light like untrodden 

snow; 
And a spell seems binding with cords of 

love 
The earth below and the heaven above. 
All seems in a mystical life to share, 
The quivering stream and the throbbing 

air, 
The glow-worm that fires the tufted sod, 
And the moon that rides like a conquer- 
ing god ; 
For the spirit of Beauty waves her wand, 
And earth and sky to its touch respond. 

I gazed enraptured on the scene 

Before my view in beauty spread, 
As hushed, unruffled, and serene, 

As though each taint of ill had fled — 
As though the clash of angry foes 
Could never break its deep repose. 
Who, in an hour so calm, so still, 
Oppressed by no o'erwhelming ill, 
In health's full flush, could bear to leave 
A world so fair as this, nor grieve ? 



30 Before tt)e Battle. 

Oh, never is a home so dear 
As when the parting hour is near ; 
A maiden's voice has no such spell 
As when its music breathes farewell ; 
The sun reserves the softest ray 
To flush the parting steps of day ; 
And never seem the earth and sky 
So lovely as to him whose eye 
Looks upon death approaching nigh, 
As on the battle's eve. 



3i 



FOREBODINGS. 

The sun was fading in the west, 
A flush was on the ocean's breast, 
And, feebly bright'ning, Dian's crest 
Ascended in the sky. 

A maiden stood upon the shore, 
She marked the storm grow more and more, 
And to the angry billow's roar 
Responded with a sigh. 

" Speak, speak, tumultuous wave!" she cried ; 
" Say, where is he whose joy and pride 
Was on thy foaming crest to ride, 
When tempests raged above ? 



" Slowly the weary hours move on, 
Thrice garish day has come and gone, 
Thrice have the stars grown pale and wan 
In waiting for my love." 



32 iForebobings. 



The storm unfurled its cloudy wing, 
The surge grew black and threatening, 
The lightning like a living thing 
Throbbed wildly on the wave. 

And in the darkness of my dream 
I saw the ghastly corpse-light gleam, 
I heard a loud despairing scream, 
And none was near to save. 



NEMESIS. 

The voice of the afflicted is rising to the sun, 

The thousands who have perished for the 
selfishness of one, 

The judgment-seat polluted, the altar over- 
thrown, 

The sighing of the exile, the tortured cap- 
tive's groan, 

The many crushed and plundered to gratify 
the few, 

The hounds of hate pursuing the noble and 
the true ; 

But Vengeance follows surely, and her strokes 
are fierce and wild, 

For the storm-cloud was in labor, and the 
lightning was its child. 



When the tyrants are all buried and the evil 

laws repealed, 
When upright men are ruling and every 

wrong seems healed, 
3 



34 Nemesis. 



Then the ancient feud reopens and the tardy 

bolt is cast, 
And the land is filled with bloodshed for the 

evils of the past, 
And men will talk of justice as the storm of 

carnage raves, 
And the innocent are murdered for the guilty 

in their graves ! 
O God ! what sights are witnessed upon this 

earthly ball, 
And the things that men call justice are often 

worst of all. 

The servitude of ages leaves its impress on a 
race; 

Because the fathers suffered, the children's 
hearts are base ; 

You can not win by kindness, in vain you 
break the chain : 

The hatred and the impotence and the slavish 
type remain. 

The dead are still our masters, and a power 
from the tomb 

Can shape the characters of men, their con- 
duct and their doom. 



35 



EVENING. 

Tis evening— the sun is cleaving 

The dim horizon line, 
And the western clouds upheaving 

Like a sea of glory shine. 

And a beam of departing splendor 

Illumines the sea below 
With a flush as soft and as tender 

As a sleeping infant's glow. 

And the evening star is quivering 
On the verge of that sea above, 

Like Hope standing pale and shivering 
As she looks upon dying Love. 



36 



A MISSED DESTINY. 

Weary of life, but yet afraid to die, 
Sated and soured too, he slowly sinks, 
With genius, knowledge, eloquence and wit, 
And all the gifts of fortune vainly given ; 
Some morbid ply that flaws the heart or 

brain, 
Some strange infirmity of thought or will, 
Has marred them all ; nothing remains be- 
hind 
But fragmentary thoughts and broken 

schemes, 
Some brilliant sayings and a social fame 
Already fading ; but his mind is yet 
Keen, clear, and vivid, though his nerveless 

will 
Can never rise to action ; so he ends — 
The eagle's eye without the eagle's wing. 



37 



ON AN OLD SONG. 

Little snatch of ancient song, 
What has made thee live so long ? 
Flying on thy wings of rhyme 
Lightly down the depths of time, 
Telling nothing strange or rare, 
Scarce a thought or image there, 
Nothing but the old, old tale 
Of a hapless lover's wail ; 
Offspring of an idle hour, 
Whence has come thy lasting power ? 
By what turn of rhythm or phrase, 
By what subtle, careless grace, 
Can thy music charm our ears 
After full three hundred years ? 

Little song, since thou wert born, 
In the Reformation morn, 
How much great has passed away, 
Shattered or by slow decay, 
Stately piles in ruins crumbled, 
Lordly houses lost and humbled, 



38 ©n an ©lb Song. 

Thrones and realms in darkness hurled, 

Noble flags forever furled, 

Wisest schemes by statesmen spun, 

Time has seen them one by one 

Like the leaves of autumn fall — 

A little song outlives them all. 

There were mighty scholars then, 
With the slow, laborious pen, 
Piling up their works of learning, 
Men of solid, deep discerning, 
Widely famous as they taught 
Systems of connected thought, 
Destined for all future ages ; 
Now the cobweb binds their pages ; 
All unread their volumes lie 
Moldering so peaceably, 
Coffined thoughts of coffined men, 
Never more to stir again 
In the passion and the strife, 
In the fleeting forms of life, 
All their force and meaning gone, 
As the stream of thought flows on. 

Art thou weary, little song, 
Flying through the world so long ? 
Canst thou, on thy fairy pinions, 
Cleave the future's dark dominions, 



(&n an (2Mb 60119. 39 

And with music soft and clear 
Charm the yet unfashioned ear, 
Mingling with the things unborn, 
When perchance another morn, 
Great as that which gave thee birth, 
Dawns upon the changing earth ? 
It may be so, for all around, 
With a heavy, crashing sound, 
Like the ice of polar seas 
Melting in the summer breeze, 
Signs of change are gathering fast, 
Nations breaking with their past. 

The pulse of thought is beating quicker, 
The lamp of faith begins to flicker, 
The ancient reverence decays 
With forms and types of other days, 
And old beliefs grow faint and few 
As knowledge molds the world anew, 
And scatters far and wide the seeds 
Of other hopes and other creeds ; 
And all in vain we seek to trace 
The fortunes of the coming race, 
Some with fear and some with hope — 
None can cast its horoscope. 
Vap'rous lamp or rising star, 
Many a light is seen afar, 
And dim shapeless figures loom 
All around us in the gloom — 



4o ®tt cm (Dib Song. 

Forces that may rise and reign 
As the old ideals wane. 

Landmarks of the human mind 

One by one are left behind, 

And a subtle change is wrought 

In the mold and cast of thought ; 

Modes of reasoning pass away, 

Types of beauty lose their sway, 

Creeds and causes that have made 

Many noble lives must fade, 

And the words that thrilled of old 

Now seem hueless, dead, and cold ; 

Fancy's rainbow tints are flying, 

Thoughts, like men, are slowly dying ; 

All things perish, and the strongest 

Often do not last the longest ; 

The stately ship is seen no more, 

The fragile skiff attains the shore ; 

And while the great and wise decay, 

And all their trophies pass away, 

Some sudden thought, some careless rhyme, 

Still floats above the wrecks of Time. 



4i 



VANITAS VANITATUM. 

With baubles and phantoms and nicknames 

we end as we began, 
But the doll gives more joy to the child than 

the Garter can give to the man ; 
And the dreams of our youth are better than 

all the wisdom of age, 
And the heart of the school-girl beats happier 

than the heart of the king or the sage ; 
And the silliest charm gives more comfort to 

thousands in sorrow and pain, 
Than they ever will get from the knowledge 

that proves it so foolish and vain. 
If the measure of worth be but happiness, if 

this be the key-note of life, 
Illusion is better than knowledge, as slumber 

is better than strife ; 
For we know not where we come from, and 

we know not whither we go ; 
And the best of all our knowledge is how 

little we can know. 



42 



VOICES OF THE EVENING. 

The sailors were chanting their measured 
songs 

To the throb of the glittering oar, 
And each ripple seemed laden with melody, 

As it broke on the silent shore. 

And the sun went down in the burning sky, 
And the western wave grew bright, 

As the day, like a dream of loveliness, 
Melted in misty light. 

And a spirit within me seemed to say 

Farewell to the paths of toil, 
Farewell to the strife of the laboring pen, 

The strife of the barren soil. 

I ask not the will that can hew its way 
Where the battles of life are fought, 

Or the mind that can melt down the world 
« of dreams 
In the fire of searching thought. 



boitcB of ttje (Evening. 43 

No lovelier light adorns the sky 

Than the trembling light of the star, 

And the mind that shines with a wavering 
beam 
Is the best and the loveliest far. 

I ask, not to climb to Wealth's glittering 
heights, 

Or to stand where Fame's sun-flush glows, 
But the twilight calm and the valley's shade, 

And the violet more than the rose. 

But the sun sank down, and a keen, fresh 
breeze 

Renerved my spirit again, 
And a voice came floating over the waves, 

And it told of strife with men. 

For life is a struggle, and not a dream, 
And Ambition's power must last 

Till the first fresh strength of the mind be 
gone, 
Till the fire of youth be past. 



44 



SONG. 

Once more, once more returning spring 

Makes field and forest gay, 
And overhead on spangled wing 

The new-born insects play ; 
A gleam is on the bending grass, 

A glitter on the sea, 
And o'er its waves in thought I pass 

To thee, dear maid, to thee. 

Oh, wearily I count the hours 

That slowly ebb away, 
And weary through the springtide flowers 

My languid footsteps stray. 
The light that streams on hill and glade 

Brings little joy to me ; 
My heart but casts a darker shade 

When I am not with thee. 

The lover's seasons come and go 

With no celestial sphere ; 
The lover's sun is here below, 

His light to guide and cheer ; 



00itg. 45 

All nature seems to droop and wane 

When thou art far from me, 
And all the world grows bright again 

With thee, dear maid, with thee. 



4 6 



THE SOWER AND HIS SEED. 

He planted an oak in his father's park, 

And a thought in the minds of men, 
And he bade farewell to his native shore, 

Which he never will see again. 
Oh, merrily streams the tourist throng 

To the glow of the southern sky ; 
A vision of pleasure beckons them on, 

But he went there to die. 

The oak will grow and its boughs will spread, 

And many rejoice in its shade, 
But none will visit the distant grave 

Where a stranger youth is laid ; 
And the thought will live when the oak has 
died, 

And quicken the minds of men, 
But the name of the thinker has vanished 
away, 

And will never be heard again. 



47 



TOWN AND COUNTRY. 

How calm the life of mortals flows 

In its secluded course, 
Where Nature's influence gives repose, 

And habit keeps its force ; 

Where ancient memories linger long, 
And friends are few and fast ; 

And hearts are simple, pure, and strong, 
Deep-rooted in the past ! 



Here, in this feverish city strife, 
Each day new interests brings, 

And countless feelings quicken life, 
But all of them have wings. 



And endless forms of joy and pain, 
Of knowledge, thought, and speech, 

Incessant break on heart and brain, 
Like waves upon the beach. 



48 ®0t*m anb ^cantr^. 

Too many figures crowd the scene, 

And, as they hurry by, 
How few will pause on what has been, 

Or miss the forms that fly ! 

So fast each imprint fades away, 
So transient love and sorrow, 

The grave that closed but yesterday 
Is half-forgot to-morrow. 

But ah, the wounds that can not heal ! 

The hearts that fester there ! 
The keenest pang that mortals feel 

Is grief that none will share. 



49 



I DREAMED A DREAM OF GLORY." 

I DREAMED a dream of glory — 

I dreamed I saw thee rise, 
In all thy passing loveliness, 

Before my dazzled eyes ; 
Thy cheek was flushed with pleasure, 

And beaming was thine eye, 
As when we roamed together, 

As in the days gone by. 

A voice that long was silent 

Seemed wafted to my ear; 
It told of many a struggle, 

Of many a triumph near ; 
But, better far, it told me 

That days of peace were nigh, 
When we may roam together 

As in the days gone by. 

It told me — oh, how softly ! 

And was it but a dream ? — 
That earth's most bitter partings 

Are not the things they seem ; 
4 



5° "3 JBxcarach a UJream of (Slots- 

That severed hearts are blended 
In some dim world on high, 

Where spirits roam together 
As in the days gone by. 

Though soon that vision vanished, 

Its traces still remain, 
Its glory streams across my life 

Through sorrow and through pain ; 
The shadows gather round me, 

Yet still my thoughts can fly, 
Where we may roam together 

As in the days gone by. 



5* 



A WOMAN'S PORTRAIT. 

She was fair, but not so fair 
That others were not lovelier there ; 
Hers was not the fleeting power 
Of a brief impassioned hour, 
But the charm that grows more dear 
With each slow revolving year. 
In her eye of cloudless blue, 
In her smile so sweet and true, 
You might read a spirit made 
For the sunshine and the shade ; 
Keen alike in work and pleasure, 
Yet with self-control and measure ; 
Brave and buoyant, wise and gay, 
On the smooth or rugged way ; 
'Tis the type that wears the best, 
Made for sympathy and rest. 

Pinings for unreal things, 
Morbid doubts and questionings, 
All the weakness and the pain 
Of the fever-stricken brain, 



52 % fiOctnan's portrait. 

Turning from the things we see 
To the things that can not be, 
Vanished in the healthy hue 
Which around my path she threw, 
And the sting of settled care 
Passed away when she was there ; 
For my life grew strong and brave 
With the courage that she gave, 
And the night at last has flown ; 
Hers the praise, and hers alone. 



53 



BIRTHDAYS. 

"Time is the stuff of life"* — then spend 

not thy days while they last 
In dreams of an idle future, regrets for a 

vanished past ; 
The tombstones lie thickly behind thee, but 

the stream still hurries thee on, 
New worlds of thought to be traversed, new 

fields to be fought and won. 
Let work be thy measure of life, then only 

the end is well ; 
The birthdays we hail so blithely are strokes 

of the passing bell. 



* "You value life— take care of your time, for time 
is the stuff of life."— Franklin. 



54 



THE DYING SEER. 

Close the book — the task is over, 

Toil and triumph both are done ; 
Weary, way-worn, restless rover, 

Now thy devious course is run ; 
Worlds of fancy, thought, and learning, 

All the tracts thy mind has spanned, 
All grow dim ; thy steps are turning 

Onward to the shadow-land. 

Many a hope thy genius kindled 

In the splendor of its morn, 
Ere the evening came had dwindled, 

Turned to doubt, or grief, or scorn. 
Too much dross alloys the treasure, 

Wayward flights and passion stains ; 
Only now we learn to measure 

How much noble still remains. 

Close the book — the words are written, 
They will stand for good or ill ; 

True, the stately palm is smitten, 
But its seeds are living still ; 



®l)e Edging Qetx. 55 

Darkness gathers round the writer, 
Envious murmurs greet his name, 

But his thoughts will shine the brighter 
In the after-glow of fame. 



56 



LIFE'S TRAGEDY. 

THE flowers of spring-time blossom on the 
tomb, 
But can not reach the corpse that lies be- 
neath, 

And while the hopes of youth most gayly 
bloom 
The heart still feels the irony of death ; 

The aimleSSneSS Of life, its broken lines, 
Its boundless longings and its rapid flight, 

The noble promise that B moment shines, 
Then sinks forever in eternal night. 

Oh, Strange unrest ! that makes our pleasures 
cloy, 
Till life and all that life can give seems 
vain ; 
The passing-bell is heard amid our joy, 
And sin and shame are mingled with our 
pain. 



£ifc'0 ftragcbj}. 57 



Remembered love, how fond, how deep its 
thrill, 
When all is dark and envious Death de- 
vours ! 
The echo murmurs though the harp is 
still, 
The fragrance lingers from our vanished 
flowers. 

Whence have they come, and whither do 
they move, 
Those lives so strangely void or strangely 
crossed : 
The life of thought without the life of love, 
The life of love, when what we love is lost ? 

How fast they fly! the moments will not 
stay, 
Though past and future blend their influ- 
ence there, 
Deep roots of flowers that withered in a day, 
Dim shadows falling from we know not 
where. 

Weak, blind, and helpless, from the depths 
we cry, 

Spirit of Nature, wilt thou hear our call ? 
Behold our wanderings with a pitying eye, 

And garner up our loved ones as they fall ! 



58 life's ftrage&s. 

Thou who hast planted in the heart its needs, 
Its ceaseless cravings for some nobler 
sphere, 
'Mid changing forms and swiftly fading 
creeds, 
We fain would trust that thou at least art 
near. 

Our little tapers tremble in the gloom, 
Our boasted systems wither in a span, 

And none can pierce the secret of the tomb, 
Or read the riddle of the life of man. 

Vain hopes and fears, ambition, strife, and 
sin ! 

Thus idly glide our brightest years away, 
Until at length the evening shade draws in, 

The early evening of our winter day ; 

Until the time when every power wanes, 
When all the hues that brightened life 
have fled. 
The world grows dim, one only thought re- 
mains — 
How hard to die, how blessed to be dead ! 



59 



MOODS. 

Oh, happy the hour when morning breaks, 
And the spirit of man refreshed awakes, 
Eager and strong for its daily strife, 
Too busy to think of the ills of life ; 
And happy the hour of the setting sun, 
When the battle is over, the labor is 

done, 
And the weary fly home, like the bird to the 

nest, 
And the voice of the loved one is calling to 

rest ! 
'Tis the hour of peace, when our troubles de- 
part, 
And the calm of the evening is felt in the 
heart. 



But laden with care move the hours of the 

night, 
When sleepless, yet weary, we measure their 

flight ; 



6o ittoobs. 



When the darkness around us has thrown 

its hue 
On all we think and on all we do ; 
And the heart grows chill with a sudden fear, 
And the things that we dread the most seem 

near, 
And we think of the dead who lie sleeping 

below, 
And of those whom we love who may soon 

be so ; 
Of age and of weakness, of sickness and pain, 
And all our lives seem hollow and vain, 
So fast they fly, and the long grass waves 
Tangled and dank on our lonely graves ; 
And the steps of the last of the mourners 

have gone, 
And we are forgot, while the world rolls on. 
For the hearts we love, and the things we 

prize, 
They pass like the swarms of the summer 

flies, 
Or the clouds that float on an idle wind, 
And leave not a trace in the world behind. 



6i 



ASSOCIATION. 

'Twas scarcely Love — not Love full blown, 
For where she reigns she reigns alone, 
And rising up at Memory's call 
Subdues, absorbs, eclipses all ; 
Hers rather was the light that flings 
Its radiance on surrounding things, 
And in the retrospect of years 
Entwined with other forms appears, 
Brings back the half-forgotten scene, 
And makes the fading outlines keen ; 
The sunlight gleam, the living touch 
By which the landscape charms so much. 



62 



" SAIL ON, SAIL ON, THOU 
FRAGILE BARK." 

Sail on, sail on, thou fragile bark, 

Across the raging sea ; 
The waves run high, the night is dark, 

The heavens seem closed to thee ; 
The guiding stars are seen no more, 
And cloud-banks veil the distant shore. 

Oh, life of man, so fiercely tossed 
By passion, doubt, and pain, 

Thy chart is torn, thy compass lost, 
The lights of childhood wane. 

How frail the bark, how vast the sea ! 

May God in mercy look on thee ! 



63 



HOMEWARD BOUND. 
Cold, dark, and drear the winter eve draws 



in 



The nipping frost is in the air ; the hills 
Are white with recent snow; the leafless 

boughs 
Arrayed in panoply of ice gleam forth ; 
Amid th' ascending mists, in heaven appear 
A few faint stars like snow-flakes of the sky; 
And not a motion stirs the freezing air, 
And not a murmur breaks upon the ear, 
Save that, with gentle sound, old Ocean's 

lip 
Kisses the rocky shore. A ship lay there 
Moored to the land, but soon about to sail 
With some few passengers; and on the 

beach, 
Waiting the signal-bell, a man and wife 
Stood gazing on the sea— she young and 

fair, 
But he more old, though rather thought 

than age 



64 §ommaxb Bomib. 

Furrowed his brow ; and in his eyes there 

shone 
A strange, sad luster, as of one who sought 
To pierce the veil and gather more from 

life 
Than life can give. Silent and close they 

stood, 
As those whom love's sweet sympathies had 

joined, 
And kindred thoughts had molded into 

one, 
And watched the crescent moon that slowly 

rose 
Feeble and white above a snow-clad hill, 
Half lost amid the mist ; and now at length 
With half-abstracted air the traveler spoke : 

M 'Tis o'er at last, that lengthened wandering 
Through many nations and through many 

climes ; 
When next the lid of night uncloses o'er 
The burning orb of day, my native land 
Once more will lie unfolded to the view, 
Deep rock-bound bays, calm vales, and 

mountain-peaks, 
And all those scenes with early mem'ries 

twined. 
Full twenty years of crowded thought have 

passed 



tyomcmaxb Bomtfr. 65 

Since toward that shore I turned my fare- 
well gaze. 
An ardent student, bound to seek afar 
A deeper wisdom and a nobler life, 
With hopes which youth, and youth alone, 
can give. 

How beautiful those days, like early love, 
When the bright worlds of knowledge and 

of thought 
Break on the young man's eye ! All nature 

seems 
Suffused with light. Ambitions, hopes, and 

dreams 
Are then as palpable as living things ; 
Buoyant as air the mind can rise above 
The jarring elements of earth. It seems 
By gazing on the beautiful to burst 
The trammels of its clay, to blend itself 
With Nature's loveliness, become a pulse 
Throbbing in Nature's heart, a thought ab- 
sorbed 
In the great soul of beauty that pervades 
The Universe of God, a choral strain 
Lost in the floating melodies of heaven, 
And mingling with the Infinite, a part 
Of the pure essence of pervasive love 
To beauty joined as passion to the soul. 
Then hearts beat high, ambition knows no 
bounds ; 



66 tyommaxb Bonnb. 

Proud in its untried strength, the spirit longs 
To open springs of knowledge still concealed ; 
To see the full proportions of those truths 
Which by their partial aspect charm the 

mind; 
To body forth its dreams in earthly things, 
Darting at times some lightning gleam of 

truth 
To cleave the mists of error, and to scathe 
Falsehood enthroned on high ; perchance to 

leave 
Some plastic power behind it on the earth, 
Molding for good the minds of men un- 
born, 
Living through death an unembodied life 
That time can never quench. 

That flush must pass ; 
Soon, like the Alpine glow on snowy peaks, 
It fades away. The impotence of thought, 
The depth of darkness that surrounds our 

life, 
The wreck of creeds and systems vainly 

deemed 
On God's truth based, judgments that shift 

and wane 
With passion, int'rest, circumstance, and 

health, 
Hearts that draw all their strength and half 

their joy 



tyommaxli Jtottnfc. 67 

From ancient prejudice and falsehood too, 
Awe and perplex the mind. Not truths un- 
mixed, 
But coarser levers only move the world. 
Truths broken, flawed, or partial, party cries, 
Passions and int'rest, custom, prejudice, 
And many a man with error loses all 
That gave him force and goodness. Thus 

the stars 
Grow dark above us, and we learn to feel 
How many sow upon a waste of sand, 
Or build upon the clouds ; how soon we 

pass, 
And all our dreams are choked with church- 
yard dust. 

All seek for joy. We see the little child 
Seek it and find it in the simplest toy ; 
The school-boy spurns the toy, but finds his 

game 
Suffice to purchase ecstasy. The man 
Contemns each childish mean ; he points 

his hopes 
To wealth or titles, power or renown ; 
Pain marks his upward course, and baffling 

foes, 
And often, if the wished-for end is gained, 
He finds its influence frigid as yon moon — 
Yon twilight moon that flickers on the snow. 



68 $0tttetDarfc Bonxib. 

And those who in the caverns of the soul 

Have labored most to draw from hidden 
springs 

Some dream of happiness, some thought of 
love 

To cheer the sad, are saddest oft them- 
selves. 

So small the part of knowledge in our 
lives, 

So weak the power of reason on the heart, 

So vain a maxim to appease a care ! 

Thus in the gloom and solitude of thought 
I wandered long, till on my lonely path 
Thy influence arose. In thee I found 
A sacred spot in which the wearied soul 
At length might rest— for thou hast been to 

me 
Dear as to-night the crystal stars that shine 
Like pleasure nestling in her gloomy heart. 
From thee, dear wife, I learned how Love 

can graft 
A stronger plume on Life's disheveled wing ; 
How, turning to the earth from which it 

sprang, 
The spirit gathers strength, and yet may 

find 
In daily rounds of duty and of love 
The sands of life still sparkling as they flow." 



fyommaxb Jtomtfc. 69 

We can not fly our shadows, or escape 
The innate temp'rament that molds our 

lives 
To happiness or gloom. Its mighty stress, 
Stronger than reason, conduct, circumstance, 
Gives color to our thoughts ; the mind best 

strung 
Can suffer most, and he who most aspires 
To truth and knowledge and ideal good 
Most keenly feels the impotence of life. 
The shadows lengthen as the night draws 

on, 
And youth's bright hues can never be re- 
called ; 
But Love and Duty linger, Habit smooths 
With kindly hand the steep descent of life ; 
And through the gath'ring mists Hope whis- 
pers still, 
We yet may find, we know not how or 

where, 
The highest and the happiest the same. 
But hark ! the ship bell summons us away ; 
The present calls us from the land of 
dreams. 



7° 



"FLOW ON, SWIFT STREAM." 

Flow on, swift stream, amid the flowers ! 

Flow on and dance with joy, 
And tell me of the happy hours 

When I was yet a boy. 
I watched thee with the loved ones then, 
Now all alone I come again 

To wander by the river ; 
And I am old and they are gone, 
But it unchanged is gliding on 

As young and bright as ever. 

Unchanged it seems, yet who can stay 

The water's ceaseless motion ? 
The little waves of yesterday 

To-day have reached the ocean ; 
Unmarked, unmissed, they swiftly fly ; 
Unmarked, unmissed, we too must die, 

And leave the mighty river 
Where youth, and joy, and love, and strife, 
And all the various modes of life 

Flow on unchanged forever. 



7i 



A TALE OF MODERN ITALY. 

It is a cottage hung with vines, 
Amid the northern Apennines, 
Deep hidden in a lonely vale, 
And sheltered from the mountain gale ; 
And, winding near, a river flows 
Descending from the distant snows ; 
And farther on the eye may scan 
The traces of the hand of man : 
The vineyard sloping on the hill, 
The font to catch the falling rill, 
The image rudely sculptured there 
To call the laborer to prayer ; 
And softly in the distance swells 
The music of the cattle-bells ; 
And wildly sweet the herdsman's horn 
Awakes to usher in the morn ; 
And every sound and every sight 
Seems filled with such a calm delight, 
If time and change could only spare, 
An all but perfect bliss were there. 

Time in the bridal hours speeds fast : 
A few short months of joy had past, 



72 & QLak of Modern Italg. 

And now the clouds began to rise 
And darken o'er the lover's skies ; 
The war-trump gave its loud alarms, 
And called th' Italian youth to arms. 
The word went forth from shore to shore, 
The suffering race may rise once more, 
May cleave the old Germanic chain, 
And kindle in their land again 
Some sparkle of the ancient flame 
That led their ancestors to fame ; 
And memories shadowy but sublime, 
Dim phantoms of a nobler time, 
Filled many a heart with martial pride 
The day Antonio Moro died. 

Peace to the brave ! Not his the name 
To mingle with the voice of fame ; 
No minstrel's harp awakes to tell 
How valiantly he fought and fell ; 
But flowers around his tomb are wreathed, 
And many a sigh is o'er it breathed, 
And peasants' tears bedew the sod, 
And prayers commend his soul to God. 
Kings struggle for some sordid aim, 
Dominion, power, selfish fame ; 
With equal pride the soldier draws 
His venal sword in any cause ; 
A little touch of self may taint 
The garments of the purest saint ; 



& QLale of fttooern Italg. 73 

And martyrs, as they nobly die, 

See crowns of glory in the sky, 

Hear voices calling, " Suffer this— ■ 

Thy guerdon is eternal bliss ; 

A moment, and thy soul is clear ; 

Thou hast thy purgatory here." 

Not for such ends the patriot dies ; 

(May Heaven receive the sacrifice !) 

No priest is there his cause to bless, 

No promised crown, no pang the less ; 

His was the ancient Roman's mind — 

He only asked to leave behind 

A land united, strong, and free 

A nobler life he may not see. 

Peace to the brave ! The strife is o'er, 

The tyrant's yoke can gall no more ; 

The clash of arms, the din of foes, 

Can never break his deep repose ; 

His soul, we trust, looks down on earth — 

The hour of death the hour of birth ! 

Ye mourners, dry the lingering tear : 

The angels' cradle is the bier. 

They laid him in a lonely grave 
Upon the marge of Como's wave, 
That breaks in gentle ripples near, 
Like whispers for a mourner's ear. 
It is a spot so passing fair, 
The traveler loves to linger there : 



74 & &ai* of ittobern Jtal^. 

In front, the lake of deepest blue ; 
Around, the mountains close the view, 
And on their slopes, in terraced lines, 
The eye may mark the trailing vines, 
The maize with golden fruit and flower, 
And here and there a leafy bower ; 
And over all things, pure and high, 
The azure of th' Italian sky, 
So soft, yet so intensely bright 
It trembles through a veil of light. 
But lovelier still that tranquil hour 
When night first curtains hall and bower, 
When evening's parting beam has paled, 
And every mount, in darkness veiled, 
And mantled in a solemn hue, 
Looms dimly awful on the view. 
The water's music seems more sweet, 
And gentlest sounds upon it meet ; 
The throbbings of the distant oar 
Approaching slowly to the shore, 
The bugle thrilling clear and lone, 
The bells of many a varied tone, 
The peasant's songs that rudely tell 
Of those who fought and those who fell. 
Then shine the stars above, and soon 
Upon the grave the still, pale moon 
Pours down so magical a beam 
That he who muses there might dream, 



% QTale of ittofcern Stalg. 75 



If such a boon to earth were given, 
That rest in such a spot were heaven. 

But she whose life was twined with his, 
Whose only hope, whose only bliss, 
Upon his smile and presence hung, 
By that death-stroke her mind was wrung : 
The pang, so sudden and intense, 
O'erpowered every reeling sense ; 
And as the moth pursues its flight 
Around the taper's beck'ning light, 
And love draws more than pain repels, 
And death seems bliss where beauty dwells, 
So round that one remembered joy, 
With passion that no time could cloy, 
Her thoughts distracted ever flew, 
And drank in pangs and joys anew — 
That poison-cup which memory fills, 
Which charms and maddens while it kills. 

She deemed his spirit ever near — 
His being seemed the atmosphere, 
The life, the essence of her thought, 
In all around her path inwrought ; 
His voice seemed floating on each wind ; 
The image ruling in her mind — 
Diffused, reflected, and transferred, 
In every much-loved scene appeared : 



76 % &ale of ittobern Jtalji. 

Yet though it seemed forever nigh, 
That presence could not satisfy. 

The summer past — the leaves were shed- 
She lay upon her dying bed, 
And watched with a dilating eye 
The sunset fringe the western sky, 
And mantle with its transient glow 
The mountain-peaks that soar below. 
That lovely form was shrunk and frail, 
That cheek was now a deadly pale, 
Save one thin line of crimson light 
That shone amid a ghastly white ; 
Not mingling there, but darting through, 
It scarcely seemed an earthly hue ; 
And with a wild convulsive swell 
Her snowy bosom rose and fell, 
And o'er her brow the eye might trace 
From time to time the shadows chase, 
And flickering feebly on her lips 
The smile that death can not eclipse — 
The still faint smile that lingers on 
When all besides of life has gone. 

She touched her harp — she swept its chords- 
She linked its notes with living words : 
Not as of old, when, free and lone, 
Among the hills her mellowed tone 



& Sale of Mohcxn Itaig. 77 

Poured forth a stream of happy song, 
So clear and sweet, so full and strong, 
That echo seemed to love the strain, 
And murmured o'er its notes again ; 
And as the huntsman homeward strayed, 
And heard but saw not yet the maid, 
He fondly dreamed of spirits there, 
And to the Virgin breathed a prayer. 
How changed, alas ! for sorrow sears 
More deeply than the brand of years, 
And steals the freshness and the glow 
From all we love the most below. 
Ah ! never more can echo wake 
In hill or valley for her sake ; 
So faint her voice as death drew near, 
The listener now must stoop to hear 
The accents of that faltering tongue, 
As thus in broken strains she sung : 



" He has not gone— he has not gone — 

I feel his presence near ; 
In every sight of loveliness, 

Of grandeur and of fear, 
Reflected and diffused I meet 

The image of his mind : 
So gentle, yet so passionate, 

So lofty, yet so kind. 



78 & &ale of ifloomt Stal^. 

" A deeper beauty seems to rest 

On Nature's glowing face, 
Since in each form of earth and sky 

His lineaments I trace ; 
The fleeting cloud, the changeless star, 

The wild, majestic sea, 
The flower, the lake, the cataract, 

All bring my love to me. 

"I asked for my love 'mid the glacier's 
sheen, 
And the avalanche's roar ; 
Where the storm-wing broods o'er the dark 
ravine, 
And the eagles proudly soar ; 
Where the cataract foams through the fis- 
sured rocks, 
As it speeds on its wild career 
'Mid the icy caves and the tempest 
shocks : 
I felt that my love was near. 

" For grand was his mind in the strength of 
youth 
As the eagle on the wing ; 
And his words flowed as fierce in the cause 
of truth 
As the avalanche of the spring ; 



& Sale of Jttotorn Stal^. 79 

And his passions were strong as the torrents' 
rush 
Through the rock that its might has riven ; 
And his soul, like the mountains, seemed to 
flush 
With the first, best light from heaven. 



" I asked for my love, when the lake lay calm, 

And the stars shone bright above ; 
When the earth was veiled, and the air was 
balm, 

And the sky seemed breathing love ; 
When the night-bird's song, like a spirit's 
voice, 

Came thrilling on the ear : 
Methought, as I listened, it said — ' Rejoice ! 

For he whom thou lovest is near.' 



" Oh ! gentle and calm as the lake at rest — 

Gentle and kind as brave — 
The tenderest graces shone in his breast, 

Like the stars in the slumbering wave ; 
Nor softer the note of the night-bird's strain, 

As it floats through the air above, 
Than his voice when it dwelt on some linger- 
ing pain, 

Or whispered some tale of love. 



8o % STale of ittobern Italg. 

" I heard a voice ringing — 

It was sweet beyond compare : 
It seemed an angel singing — 

Singing in prayer. 
I saw censers swinging, 

And incense wreathing there, 
And thousand spirits winging 

Their pathway through the air. 
And as I gazed on that still lake, 

Where he I love most seems to brood, 
I heard a choral anthem break 

As from the dwelling-place of God ! 
Louder and louder still the strain 

Pealed forth from that angelic choir ; 
It rang o'er mountain, lake, and plain, 
Its music seemed to pierce my brain, 
It thrilled through every burning vein 

Like love's first wild desire. 
Oh ! as I chant it o'er again, 

The veil that hides our bygone years 
Is in a moment rent in twain, 

And all the past appears. 
Faint grows my voice and dim my eye, 

Still in my ear those accents ring, 
Once more those heavenly notes I sing — 

Once more before I die ! 

" Say not the dead have gone — 
Passed from this earth away : 



% &ale of iHobem Ital^. 81 

Stars in the night that shone, 

Shine in the day ; 
What though their dwelling bright 
Dazzle thy feeble sight, 
Still with that golden light 

Mingles their ray. 

" Shades of the dead are near, 

Hovering o'er thy bed ; 
Forms that were very dear 

Shelter thy head. 
Still as around they fly, 
Thought seems to feel them nigh : 
Dreams of the days gone by— 

Dreams of the dead ! 

" Past pleasures rise anew ; 

Loved voices fill thy brain ; 
Dreams of the brightest hue, 

Mingling with pain ; 
Angel forms hovering 
Round thee on viewless wing, 
Bid those old phantoms spring 

Life-like again. 

" Then say not the dead have gone — 
Passed from this earth away : 

Stars in the night that shone, 
Shine in the day ; 
6 



82 & Sale of ittofcem !tal£. 

What though their dwelling bright 
Dazzle thy feeble sight, 
Still with that golden light 
Mingles their ray. 

" Hark ! I hear the spirit choir ; 

Methinks I see their bright array ; 
Angels strike the heavenly lyre — 

Angels summon me away ; 
Gentle voices singing, singing, 
Through the golden cloud-drifts ringing- 
Ringing far above. 
Sister spirits, pure and fair, 
Lo, I come your joys to share, 
Rising through the buoyant air 
On the wings of love." 



*3 



SPANISH SONG. 

Sweet, dark-eyed Spanish maid, 
I Watched her as she played, 
And she sang me many a ditty of love and 
sport and war — 
" Toreros of Madrid," 
And " Triumphs of the Cid," 
And many an ancient ballad, as she played 
on her guitar. 

Soft eyes and softer heart, 
How quick the tear-drops start ! 
Yet one note of merry music scatters all her 
cares afar ; 
So swift the clouds take flight, 
And her thoughts are gay and light 
As the bunch of colored ribbons that hangs 
from her guitar. 

Then comes the Spanish dance, 
And the youthful bands advance — 



84 Bpanisi) 0oug. 

For the heat of day is over — beneath the 
evening star ; 
And words and hearts grow fond, 
And eyes to eyes respond, 
As we tread the merry measure to the sound 
of the guitar. 



85 



ILLICIT LOVE. 

Children and wife, and honor and fame, 

True love and goodness and grace- 
He sold them all for a life of shame, 

For a vulgar, venal face. 
His name must pass, and its memory slip 

From the scenes where it shone so high : 
It was all for a little curve of a lip 

And the glance of a cunning eye. 
Oh ! cruel the loss, and bitter the pain, 
When the madness creeps from the heart to 

the brain, 
And a life is lost, and its labor vain. 



What was the charm that wrought the 
spell, 
None but himself could see. 
There's a door in each heart that leads to 
hell, 
Could you only find the key. 



S6 Illicit £ot)e. 



A thousand trials conquered and past, 
The strongest climber may fall ; 

And the fated tempter who comes at last 
May be the meanest of all. 

Virtue is strong, and strong is the will ; 

But Time and Chance, they are stronger 
still, 

And they hold the keys of good and of ill. 



87 



TWO FRIENDS. 

They were two friends, but very little like : 

The one a hard, keen, literary mind, 

As nimble as the serpent's quivering tongue, 

Incisive, analytic, full of gibes, 

Yet true and loyal in its narrow sphere, 

Hating all mystery. To him the world 

Seemed rounded off in perfect symmetry, 

And all thoughts might be gauged. Five 

senses give 
All that we know, and nothing lies beyond, 
Though Fancy, Passion, Int'rest take those 

thoughts 
And bend them into stately, cloudy forms, 
Baseless and fleeting soon. The stars to 

him 
Were but an endless range of common 

earths ; 
And that strange voice which in the mind of 

man 
Commands and awes was but an echo 

formed 



88 (fee fxicnbQ. 

By custom, prejudice, or ancient use ; 
And if at times, like music far and low, 
In hours of pain or solitude or grief 
Wild longing swept unbidden o'er his soul, 
He deemed them but the signs of shattered 

nerves, 
Or childish memories soon to be repressed 
By rising reason. So he lived, and so 
At length will die. 

With him there lived a friend, 
Dear to his heart, born in a southern land, 
Where thought is steeped in passion, with a 

mind 
Deep, vague, and lustrous, as a Spanish 

eye, 
Floating in light of dreams. His ear was 

quick 
To catch the finer melodies of life. 
The wonder and the mystery that bound 
Man's little segment of the truth of things 
Filled him with awe; and as he looked 

within 
He saw, or seemed to see, across the gloom 
Dim broken lines that pointed to the sky, 
And prints and characters of nobler source 
Than sense can furnish — those deep-rooted 

hopes 
Which grow and brighten with our better 

moods, 



(too iFrienfcs. 89 

And pure ideals never here attained, 

And craving needs which earth can never 

sate, 
And love too fond for passing man to feel 
If all were closed and ended in the tomb : 
And chiefly that strange law that in a world 
Of joys and pains a something higher rules — 
Rules by acknowledged right, though often 

spurned. 
The twilight visions of a noble soul 
To him were sacred, and the spirit-forms 
That, faint and feeble, seem to flicker there 
Were more than phantoms or than earth- 
born mists. 
Above his head he saw the milky way, 
Dim blending lights of countless distant 
worlds. 



9 o 



THE WIDOW. 

All has not passed. The sweet bright 
smile lives on, 
Like some calm star that mocks the tem- 
pest's rage ; 
The eye still shines almost as when it shone 
The light of features yet untouched by 
age. 

I watched thee in the soft'ning twilight 
gloom 
Which masks the lines where Care and 
Time have preyed, 
And fancy soon recalled the vanished bloom, 
And in the widow still discerned the 
maid. 



9i 



SEVILLE. 

Sevilla ! City of the Sun, 
I fly to thee, my task is done : 
Weary heart and weary brain, 
Thou canst make them young again. 
Here, beneath this cloudless blue, 
All things wear a festal hue ; 
Life seems but a painted thing, 
An insect with a gaudy wing, 
A full-blown rose, a lover's dream, 
The light that sparkles on the stream. 

Long checkered years have passed away 
Once more among those scenes I stray, 
And all below, around, above, 
Still tells of careless joy or love : 
Sunburned dancers nightly met 
With gypsy song and castanet, 
Where the colored lanterns gleam 
By the Guadalquivir's stream, 
And the white mantilla's flow 
Softer than the falling snow, 



92 Setrille. 



And the deftly quivering fan 
Telling more than language can, 
And the roses in the hair, 
And the scent that loads the air, 
Rising from the orange-grove 
Where belated lovers rove 
Through the balmy nights of spring, 
When the birds most sweetly sing, 
But not half so sad a tale 
As our northern nightingale. 

Lovely city, let me be 
For a time at one with thee ; 
From my heart all sadness chase ; 
Free me for a little space 
From the tumult and the strife 
And the seriousness of life ; 
Let thy northern sisters boast 
They can work and win the most : 
Wealth and wisdom are their dower ; 
Thine is the enchanter's power — 
Thine the gift to soothe and sway, 
Charming all our cares away. 



93 



MARRIED LIFE. 

Two flowers blossom on one stem, 
Two streamlets mingling run ; 

And love and habit blending make 
Two lives as truly one : 



One in each int'rest, hope, and fear, 
Whatever chance betide ; 

One in affection's bond, though two 
To comfort, strengthen, guide. 

When passion's torrid zone is past, 
Hearts only draw more near, 

And silent sympathies of love 
Strike deeper year by year ; 

When every little fault is seen, 
And every fleeting mood, 

And all the nobler impulses 
Are shared or understood. 



94 Jttarriefc £ife. 

Yet still one secret, sep'rate dread 
Will sometimes cloud each mind — 

Ah ! which must face this cruel world 
When left alone behind ? 



95 



PASSION AND MEMORY. 

Old legends tell how woman's hair 

Can make the spirits of the air 

Stoop down from brighter realms above 

And feel the thrall of mortal love.* 

So human passion draws its force 

From many a strange, unlooked-for source ; 

And chords to all but one unknown 

Will sometimes yield the sweetest tone. 

The charm that prints the deepest trace 
Lies often in a homely face ; 
And half our strongest passions find 
Their key-note in an answering mind ; 
A hand can haunt, a voice can thrill, 
A smile, a glance remembered still 
Across the waste of vanished years, 
Can fill the aged eye with tears, 

* " Notatur etiam quod Incubi plus vexare videntur 
mulieres et puellas pulchros crines habentes." " Mulier 
debet habere velamen super caput suum propter angelos 
multi Catholici exponunt, quod sequitur propter Angelos, 
id est Incubos."— Malleus Maleficarum. 



96 J3assion ana S&zmotQ. 

While forms of purest Grecian mold 
Leave fancy dull, and passion cold. 
And, stranger still, 'tis sometimes seen 
How pleasure neither pure nor keen — 
Some doubtful, broken, troubled joy, 
All mixed with fear or pain's alloy — 
Some fierce excitement's shuddering thrill, 
Some passion strife of good or ill, 
Will gain a charm in memory's dreams, 
And grow and brighten till it gleams 
A lonely star, whose light can last 
Amid a long-forgotten past. 



97 



TO . 

'TWAS not alone thy beauty's power 
That made thee dear to me : 

The quiet of the sunset hour 
Most truly mirrored thee. 

'Twas thine to shed a soothing balm 
On doubt and grief and strife, 

And make a bright and holy calm 
The atmosphere of life. 

Thy touch of sympathy could find 

To frozen hearts the key ; 
The darkened and the arid mind 

Gave light and fruit for thee. 

Ah ! many a flower unnoticed springs 
On life's most trodden ways ; 

And common lives and common things 
Grew nobler in thy praise. 



PAST AND PRESENT. 

The days of our love, they come and they 

go 
As soft as the flakes of the falling snow, 
Or the morning flush that dances and leaps 
From crag to crag on the mountain steeps, 
As sweet and as calm in their rapid flight 
As the sleep that follows a sleepless night : 
But the snow-flakes have melted, the sun- 
flush has flown, 
The sleeper has wakened, and I am alone. 

Yet the past remains, though we know it 

not, 
And its power is felt when it seems forgot, 
As a youthful passion will leave its trace 
In well-worn lines on an aged face. 
We feel not the joy that we felt before, 
But the pulse of our youth may throb once 

more : 
A half-seen likeness we chance to meet, 
A moment's glance in a crowded street, 



Jpast anfc present. 99 

The scent of a flower, a tone, or a song, 
Can waken some chord that has slumbered 

long; 
We know not why, for the image has fled, 
But we feel the touch of the past and the 

dead, 
As some mood of our childhood appears 

again, 
With a vague unrest or a lingering pain — 
Like a far-off cloud whose shadow will glide 
On a summer day o'er the silvery tide, 
Or the shapeless terror that seems to creep 
Through the phantom-forms of a troubled 

sleep. 

And the channels were cut long, long ago, 
Where the streams of our thought forever 

must flow, 
The things that haunt and the things that 

sway, 
The secret charms that our minds obey — 
They come from afar, and their power will 

last, 
For the Present must live in the shade of the 

Past. 



100 



A BROKEN LIFE. 

We strove together side by side, but thine 
The stronger pinion and the loftier aim ; 

Thy master-spirit gave its tone to mine, 
A nobler measure both of praise and blame. 

The golden splendors of a young man's 
dream 
Lay round our path — and thine, how pure 
and fair ! 
Heaven seemed to open : little did we deem 
That germs of sin and death were lurking 
there. 

One hour of weakness — just one little hour — 
One false step taken, darkened all the 
scene : 
The tempter came, and thou hast felt his 
power — 
A wreck remains where so much hope had 
been. 



& Broken £ife. 101 

I watched thy visions one by one take flight — 
High hopes and aims, that only left behind 

A seared and jaded heart, the cynic blight 
That kills the fruitage of the richest mind ; 

And men grow grave and silent at thy name ; 
Thy work is done, thy oldest friends de- 
part, 
And leave thee there to meet a world of 
shame 
With hollow laughter and an aching heart. 

How faint the lines that oft at first divide 
The paths that lead to honor or to scorn ! 

How small a chance can turn a life aside, 
And cloud the promise of the fairest morn ! 



102 



LOVE AND SORROW. 

Love in the country, sorrow in the town ; 
Let Love have roots, but Sorrow only 
wings ; 
Where life moves slow each feeling deepens 
down : 
A crowded life the quickest solace brings. 

But Love from Sorrow never more will part ; 
She would not heal the wounds her sister 
made ; 
She makes more keen each feeling of the 
heart ; 
The brightest sunshine casts the darkest 
shade. 



io3 



"I CAN NOT BOW BEFORE THE 
SHRINE." 

I CAN not bow before the shrine 
Where once I knelt with thee ; 

My thoughts take other paths than thine, 
And thou art lost for me. 

Yet still that youthful face appears 

Unchanged across the changing years. 

In vain our bark to distant lands 

Flies fast before the wind : 
Our hearts are bound by living bands 

To what we leave behind ; 
And hands still beckon from the shore 
Which we have left to touch no more. 



io4 



DEFLECTING INFLUENCES. 

Thought has its tastes and instincts — se- 
cret lures 
That guide our reasonings in their destined 
course ; 
The power of will both brightens and ob- 
scures, 
And shapes our judgments from their very 
source. 



Old habits, interests, childhood's sacred 
spell, 
A hundred impulses in turn prevail ; 
We seek for truth, but, though we reason 
well, 
False weights are seldom absent from the 
scale. 



JUefkriing 3nfinentz&. 105 

For mind must act through character : in 
vain 
Truth claims her empire o'er the lives of 
men; 
The light streams there, but through a tinted 
pane, 
And Reason writes, but Passion guides her 
pen. 



io6 



THE LAST PARTING. 

Farewell, farewell ! the dream is o'er, 

Its passion and its pain ; 
And Hope and Fear are now no more, 

Though Love and Grief remain. 

One feeble pressure of the hand, 

One little sigh and shiver, 
And all we thought and hoped and planned 

Has passed away forever. 

Still on those pale and shrunken lips 

A feeble sunlight plays— 
The radiance of a sun that dips 

Beneath the western haze. 



The sun that sinks will rise again, 
And brighter days may shine, 

But thou hast vanished from our ken : 
Have we, too, passed from thine ? 



®f)e £a0t parting. 107 



Can any sound of distant strife, 

Or voice of pleading love, 
Or any care of mortal life, 

Still follow thee above ? 

Or canst thou even now inspire 
Some thought that thrills the brain, 

And raise the drooping spirit higher 
With hope that conquers pain ? 

We can not tell. That vacant eye, 
Those lips, respond no more ; 

No echo answers to our cry, 
No light reveals the shore. 

And be it gain, or be it loss, 

No eye can follow thee : 
A lonely bark to-night must cross 

A dark and silent sea. 



io8 



CHARACTER. 



Creeds, custom, prejudice, surrounding 

types, 
The ebb and flow of ceaseless influence — 
These shape the thoughts and fashion of our 

lives 
And make us what we are. Yet far below 
There lurks a spring of hidden tendency — 
The innate character that strives to reach 
In thought and life to some congenial form 
We know not yet — perchance may never 

know. 
Thus blindly groping in a vague unrest, 
Uncertain, broken, and deflected lives, 
We feel the force beneath. With some it 

sinks, 
Crushed by the weight of adverse circum- 
stance ; 
With others bursts in greatness or in guilt, 
Fierce as the lava through the fissured rocks, 



Character. 109 



Defying all restraint. But happier they 
To whom betimes the kindly chance of life, 
Some casual word or circumstance, reveals 
The prophecy within. His path is smooth 
Who early knows himself. So thoughts have 

stirred 
Dim and half-formed in countless restless 

minds, 
Till some great thinker rose, who with a 

touch 
Drew them to light and made their meaning 

plain. 

II. 

Well told the bard— the foremost of our age — 
How sometimes in a dead man's rigid face 
Some old ancestral type, unseen in life, 
Appears again, and through the lately dead 
The older dead look down.* So underneath 



*"I went at once to the palace and I saw the Prince. 
It is very unreal now, but the likeness to William the Si- 
lent is quite marvelous. Mr. H. was so struck with it 
that, if there had not been great difficulties, he would 
have wished to have a photograph taken even now. 
Those taken immediately after death are extremely good, 
and like what we knew the Prince • but now the face has 
a kind of fixed, stern, elderly look— exactly like our head 
of William the Silent."— Extract from a letter from 
the Hague, July, 1884, written a few days after the 
death of Alexander, the last Prince of Orange, 



no (&\)axatttx. 



The play and shimmer of our daily lives — 
Their transient shapes and colors — there are 

lines 
Drawn by a vanished hand. Transmitted 

forms 
Of strength or weakness, passion, tendency, 
Made by another's life, bequeathed and 

stored, 
Live in the race. Though each succeeding 

will 
Subdues, adds, deepens, still the pattern-lines 
Are never all effaced. Our acts are seeds 
Which grow prolific in the hearts and minds 
Of men who follow, and the clew that threads 
The maze of character is chiefly hid 
In distant, grass -grown, and neglected 

graves — 
Forgotten actions of forgotten men. 

ill. 

Men move on divers planes, and divers 
laws 

Govern their type and make their passions 
flow* 

For some men seem all fashioned from with- 
out, 

And shifting forms of circumstance and 
chance 



(&\)axatter. 



Give texture to their thoughts. Pellucid 

lakes, 
They smile or darken with the changing sky 
And catch each passing hue. With some, 

life's spring 
Is fixed within, and one o'ermastering thought 
Will cling and haunt, and govern all their 

ways, 
And make or mar a life ; or through the glass 
Of morbid Nature which distorts and dims 
They view the world around. And there are 

those 
Who live through fancy such ideal lives, 
And people earth with such ethereal hues, 
That common life seems tapestried with 

dreams. 



112 



THE PORTRAIT. 

With swift, bold strokes the portrait grows — 

Most swiftly at its birth ; 
And soon the outlined forms disclose 

Its meaning and its worth. 

For chiefly in his first designs 

The artist's skill is shown ; 
Though blending hues and finer lines 

Add beauty, force, and tone. 

So youth with rapid pencil draws 

A life, for good or ill, 
And forms its habits and its laws, 

The bias of its will. 



With changing tints the canvas glows — 
Life's fervors soon are past ; 

But lines most lightly drawn are those 
Which often longest last. 



®l)e portrait. 113 

We can not turn the blotted page 

Or cleanse the tainted source : 
Youth sows the seed ; we reap in age 

Its honor or remorse. 



ii4 



UNDEVELOPED LIVES. 

Not every thought can find its words, 

Not all within is known ; 
For minds and hearts have many chords 

That never yield their tone. 



Tastes, instincts, feelings, passions, powers, 

Sleep there unfelt, unseen ; 
And other lives lie hid in ours — 

The lives that might have been — 



Affections whose transforming force 

Could mold the heart anew ; 
Strong motives that might change the course 

Of all we think and do. 



Upon the tall cliff's cloud-wrapped verge 

The lonely shepherd stands, 
And hears the thundering ocean surge 

That sweeps the far-off strands ; 



Untettetojjeir Ctoes. 115 

And thinks in peace of raging storms 

Where he will never be — 
Of life in all its unknown forms 

In lands beyond the sea. 



So in our dream some glimpse appears, 
Though soon it fades again, 

How other lands or times or spheres 
Might make us other men ; 



How half our being lies in trance, 
Nor joy nor sorrow brings, 

Unless the hand of circumstance 
Can touch the latent strings. 



We know not fully what we are, 
Still less what we might be : 

But hear faint voices from the far 
Dim lands beyond the sea. 



n6 



OLD AGE. 

Now the solemn shadows lengthen, 

Life's long day is well-nigh done, 
Impulse fails and habits strengthen, 

Pleasures vanish one by one. 
Feebly o'er the dark'ning dial 

Parting rays their image fling ; 
Times of triumph, times of trial, 

Lose their rapture, lose their sting. 

How much now appears unreal 

In the past that stirred us so : 
Pinings for the high ideal, 

Passion dreams, ambition's glow ! 
All life's aims grow dimmer, fainter, 

With a languid, calm decay, 
Fading as the mighty Painter 

Shades the scene with twilight gray. 

Fancy dies. Illusions follow. 

Love lasts best, but not its bloom ; 
And the gayest laugh sounds hollow, 

Echoed from an op'ning tomb. 



OMb &ge. 117 



Soon the past holds all our treasure, 
All that childless age loves best. 

Young men still may live for pleasure ; 
Old men only ask for rest. 



n8 



"HE FOUND HIS WORK, BUT COULD 
NOT FIND." 

He found his work, but far behind 
Lay something that he could not find : 
Deep springs of passion that can make 
A life sublime for others' sake, 
And lend to work the living glow 
That saints and bards and heroes know. 
The power lay there — unfolded power — 
A bud that never bloomed a flower ; 
For half beliefs and jaded moods 
Of worldlings, critics, cynics, prudes, 
Lay round his path and dimmed and chilled. 
Illusions passed. High hopes were killed ; 
But Duty lived. He sought not far 
The " might be " in the things that are ; 
His ear caught no celestial strain ; 
He dreamed of no millennial reign. 
Brave, true, unhoping, calm, austere, 
He labored in a narrow sphere, 
And found in work his spirit needs — 
The last, if not the best, of creeds. 



ii 9 



FAME, LOVE, AND YOUTH. 

Look down, look down from your glittering 
heights, 

And tell us, ye sons of glory, 
The joys and the pangs of your eagle flights, 

The triumph that crowned the story — 

The rapture that thrilled when the goal was 
won, 

The goal of a life's desire. 
And a voice replied from the setting sun — 

Nay, the dearest and best lies nigher. 

How oft in such hours our fond thoughts 
stray 
To the dream of two idle lovers ; 
To the young wife's kiss ; to the child at 
play, 
Or the grave which the long grass covers ! 

And little we'd reck of power and gold, 

And of all life's vain endeavor, 
If the heart could glow as it glowed of old, 

And if youth could abide forever. 



120 



THE DECLINE OF LOVE. 

Oh, broken-hearted lover, 
Who touched us long ago, 

The days seem well-nigh over 
When tears like yours can flow. 



Great poets still rise, bringing 

Thoughts subtle, deep, and strong 

But scarcely one is singing 
A simple lover's song. 



A graver age uncloses, 

Which mocks at Cupid's barb, 
And Venus hides her roses 

In academic garb. 



Ambition, science, learning, 
And countless efforts move, 

And many lamps are burning, 
But very few to Love. 



ie ^Decline of tout. 121 



Thought strengthens more than feeling, 
And each takes wider range ; 

And most wounds find their healing 
In lives of ceaseless change. 

And to the young man's vision 
New star-like spheres unfold, 

Which promise fields Elysian, 
Quite other than of old. 

And so the world advances, 

And none can bid it stay ; 
Yet still the heart romances, 

Although the head be gray. 

And in stray dreams of passion 
The old days sometimes rise, 

When Love was still the fashion, 
Before the world grew wise. 



122 



UNCONSCIOUS CEREBRATION. 

Say not that the past is dead. 
Though the autumn leaves are shed, 
Though the day's last flush has flown, 
Though the lute has lost its tone — 
Still within, unfelt, unseen, 
Lives the life that once has been ; 
With a silent power still 
Guiding heart or brain or will, 
Lending bias, force, and hue 
To the things we think and do. 
Strange ! how aimless looks or words 
Sometimes wake forgotten chords, 
Bidding dreams and memories leap 
From a long unbroken sleep. 



123 



THE NATIONAL PORTRAIT 
GALLERY. 

When the world of pleasure palls, 
When a voice within thee calls 
To a larger, fuller life, 
Nobler aims, more worthy strife, 
Here, in such a pensive mood, 
Half-aspiring, half-subdued, 
Come with me and learn to trace 
All the glories of thy race — 
All that art and fame can give — 
Making bygone greatness live. 

These are those who governed men 
By the sword or voice or pen — 
Who through good and evil fate 
Shaped the fortunes of the state ; 
Framed its creeds and laws, or bore 
Its flag to many an unknown shore ; 
Fought many a fight on sea and land, 
Or molded realms by wise command, 
Where beneath the Indian sky 
For some strong guide the nations cry, 



124 National ftortrait (Daller^. 

In lands where deeds, not words, have sway, 

Where men can rule and men obey. 

Here, as on the fabled heights 

Where Apollo rains delights, 

Poets seem to live again 

Free from envy, strife, and pain. 

Some whose verse can still inspire 

Hearts with true celestial fire, 

Give new worth to common things, 

Lend the jaded spirit wings — 

Clarion voice or polar star, 

Wak'ning, guiding, from afar. 

Others, once of equal fame, 

Vanished, almost to a name, 

Poets of some fleeting fashion, 

Transient taste or thought or passion — 

Though their numbers sweetly flow, 

Time has robbed them of their glow — 

Left them faded, shrunk, and dwindled, 

Like the hearts they once enkindled ; 

Yet perhaps some thought or line 

Lives perennially divine. 

Here are spirits tempest-born, 

Cradled in neglect or scorn — 

Men who kindled flames which long 

Smold'ring burned, then fierce and strong 

In a wild consuming blaze. 

Others rose in evil days, 



National portrait ©allerg. 125 

Bidding erring nations come 
To God's judgment-seat ; while some 
Scattered seedling thoughts that flew 
Farther than their authors knew — 
Thoughts that loose or thoughts that 

bind, 
Guiding those who guide mankind. 
These are few ; but all around, 
Gorgeous, jeweled, robed, or crowned, 
Fortune's favorites in each age, 
From the throne or court or stage, 
From each scene of pompous show, 
Make the spacious canvas glow. 
Lawyer's craft and churchman's pride 
Here are reigning side by side ; 
Learning, that has had its day, 
Schemes and faiths long passed away, 
Here recorded live ; and here 
Many broken lives appear. 
Some which fair as morning rose, 
Darkened by a tragic close, 
Drawn aside by idle dreams, 
Bright by fitful, transient gleams, 
Heroes of unworthy creeds, 
Baffled hopes, misguided deeds, 
Follies of a frenzied hour, 
Vanquished causes, vanished power — 
Each has left some trace at last 
In these temples of the past. 



126 National portrait (gallery 

Many climbed to these abodes, 
Treading dark and evil roads : 
Gambling with the lives of men, 
Selling vote or voice or pen, 
By the supple courtier's guile, 
Or through some frail beauty's smile : 
They, too, had their sparkling hour, 
Pride of wealth, of place, of power — 
A little space of fame or strife 
In the nation's crowded life. 
Now the veil of twilight falls 
Softly on the pictured walls, 
Making all the tints alike — 
Holbein, Reynolds, and Vandyke : 
Strong, stern, thoughtful, Tudor faces 
Stuarts, with all their courtly graces ; 
Lovely maidens, warriors bold, 
Wise and foolish, young and old — 
Lose their force or grace or bloom, 
Fading in the gath'ring gloom, 
Till their outlined figures seem 
Like an unsubstantial dream. 

Who can tell how here below 
Twine the threads of weal and woe ? 
Knowledge, power, wealth, and fame, 
Sordid hope and lofty aim, 
Man may lose or man may win ; 
Joy and sorrow lie within. 



National JJorirait Sailers. 127 

Theirs is oft the happiest lot, 

All unseen or all forgot : 

Some by furious tempests tossed, 

Fame and friends and riches lost, 

Still, through failure, grief, or strife, 

Know the worth and charm of life. 

Others win by years of pain 

Life-long aims, and find them vain ; 

While of those most richly dowered, 

Placed where Fortune's gifts are showered, 

On the proudest summits born, 

Some stand listless and forlorn, 

Stricken by that strange disease 

When life's pleasures cease to please, 

And, with all that earth can give, 

Rind it weariness to live. 

Still the world seems mounting higher, 
Chasing unfulfilled desire, 
Spurning barrier, prop, and chain, 
Scatt'ring darkness, conquering pain, 
Winning much— but in each prize 
Some sad germ of evil lies ; 
For the subtle taint that blends 
With all human hopes and ends, 
Making good the seed of ill, 
Rules the course of nations still. 
Progress comes, but she will wake 
Cravings more than she can slake ; 



28 National portrait Wallers. 

Wealth increasing, soon will grow 
Idle, joyless, tasteless show ; 
Freedom's dawn proves weak and vain 
When the rhetoricians reign, 
When the path to honor lies 
With the many, not the wise ; 
Knowledge lends new power still 
To the thought, but not the will, 
And she scarce can cast a ray 
On the future's clouded way ; 
While old Time in triumph leads 
Shattered causes, hopes, and creeds. 



THE END. 



Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. 
Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide 
Treatment Date: April 2009 

PreservationTechnologies 

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